The Small 'c' Word

constipation


So far, the chemo side effect that makes me the most miserable this week.
'Nuf said.





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ChemoDay#1 & #2 - round#2

~~MONDAY~~

Seems like only yesterday I was getting chemo for the first time. How fast 28 days have gone. I don't want this to get routine or normal, but it was like a familiar dance.

First stop was vitals: weight, BP, respiration, oxygen levels. Maybe I am getting used to it as my blood pressure was closer to normal levels today. Each time I come in and the BP reading is so high I tell 'vitals' tech gal that it really is normal readings at home. Says she believes me but I've often wondered. Today, we both celebrated a near normal reading.

From there it was time for visit with C-Dr to review how things have gone the past month. Reported to him what ya'll have read here in regards to side effects and general overall health feelings. (Not sure 'feelings' is the right word but it'll do for now). I did wonder out loud the thoughts going through my head the past few weeks: "is the chemo really working since my body seems to be tolerating it, so far, fairly well." He assured me that as treatments progress along the side effects will be greater. That's progress? Something to look forward to? NOT!

A light seemed to pop on in C-Dr and he asked if I had noticed any improvement in my swallowing. Reminded him I didn't really have any routine, regular, daily problems with swallowing before...and...hey, look at me, I obviously can find a way to eat. Yes, I did say that--with a smile on my face and we both chuckled. However, the lymphoma involvement around my esophagus apparently is significant enough that both C-Dr and Scope-Doc are still amazed I didn't have greater problems. Maybe I'll try and pay more attention to swallowing and see if there is or isn't an improvement as time goes on since the chemo is supposed to be reducing the cancer cells that are constricting my esophagus.

Next was the quick once over palpation check of lymph node areas, heart & lung checks, mouth & throat check, ears check and feet & ankles. Guess I passed because it was then on to the infusion room.

Took a different chair today that was facing the outside window. It was mid-morning and a cloudy day so not too bright with sun. Settled in and soon infusion nurse Lisa was prepping me for the IV connect to my Port. Once that is done then she draws blood for CBC testing (make sure certain elements of my blood are not too low) before infusions can start. Today, however, she apologizes as it will take extra time since their office CBC machine is 'down' and repairman is on his way but until machine is fixed they're sending all blood tests over to the hospital. "Stat" she says is not a word the hospital is reading as all tests are coming back very slowly. Good thing I brought a book to read! Just over an hour later Lisa comes back and says results are back and I'm good to go.

First up, an IV push of the 'dex' which takes less than a minute. Next through the IV is a small bag of Benedryl that takes about 25 minutes to dispense; it's purpose is to prevent, or at least reduce, any allergic reactions to the biggie chemo drugs coming up. The biggest issue with the benedryl is it makes you drowsy so while it's tempting to take a nap my eyes just get a rest every few minutes and then I don't worry about embarrassing myself with a good snoring display.

After the benedryl comes a small bag with the anti-nausea meds. It also takes about 25 minutes to drip down and into my system, but its benefits work for 3 to 5 days. Once that is done then comes the big bag of Rituxan which takes several hours. Because there are some potential reactions during its infusion the nurses start with a slow drip and then slowly increase the rate. About 1/4 or 1/3 of the way through the bag is a very, very mild reaction perhaps with a heart flutter and chill that lasts less than 30 seconds. Similar last month and wondered if it would happen again. Maybe a psychology thing rather than physiology? Always worth a wonder.

Bonus today with east view from chair was the F-something jets (hey, I don't remember the correct F-#'s assigned to the base so I don't even try!) flying on maneuvers and taking off the runway from the Air Force Base. They kept me entertained for almost an hour. Love it.

So I tried to get a picture of the IV pole when it had both small bags and the Rituxan hanging, but chemo nurse pulled a fast one on me and somehow got one of the small bags off without me noticing. Anyway, top bag on right is the Rituxan. Lower bag on left is the saline solution used to flush my Port between drugs. In the background you can see nurse with face mask on. Whenever they are working with any chemo drugs they are in masks, gloves, and disposable gowns to protect themselves from any exposure to the drugs. Hmmm. These are the same drugs running through my veins, my body!!

Also today my sister brought my mother over for a visit. Even though it's marked on calendar that hangs on side of our refrigerator Mom has been asking every day for more than a week when my treatments days were going to be. Her anxiety and repetitiveness has some basis in her dementia so we thought it might ease her mind to see me alive and well sitting in a comfy chair. Don't know if that goal was achieved. Mom (an RN) was mesmerized by the chemo nurse who was doing a phlebotomy on the gal in the chair across from me. (She suffers from too much iron in her blood and the hematologists here have her come in every three months where a pint or more is drawn, and then she gets an IV of saline to replace it.) After a 25 minute or so visit Mom was ready to leave and get lunch. Once they left the nurse and gal in the chair, who'd learned Mom lives with me during the course of our visit, said almost in unison, "With everything, you've got your hands full." Yes, I do.

Once the Rituxan was done then I receive the Bendamustine and that takes about an hour. When that is finished the Port is flushed again with the saline solution. It was decided the IV connect to my Port will remain in place over night so it was padded slightly and taped into place. We'll see how that goes. I'm hoping to save a few dollars for my insurance company.

Out into fresh air by 4:30pm. Yay!


~~TUESDAY~~
Like last month today is a shorter time in the chair, but first a stop for all the 'vitals' check. Blood pressure was a point or two down from yesterdays number. 'Vitals' tech gal and I celebrated. Then off to infusion room and pick my chair for the morning. Here was my view today. The chair you see on the left is where I was yesterday.

First IV bag hung was the benedryl, and 30 minutes later the Bendamustine was started. Things were moving so quickly I didn't get enough time to finish the book I was reading. Once the IV to my Port was removed and covered I was free to leave. Out to the car where I moved to the only remaining shady spot in the several parking lots nearby and spent 20 minutes finishing the book. No, I couldn't wait until I got home. It was that kind of book.



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Time Warp

"Time Warp" was a phrase my sister came up with, a little over a year ago, as a way to refer to our mother's cognitive loss and confusion when it came to people and dates and times and places.

I've decided to borrow the phrase since some of my recent experiences seem time warped...in a different way from my mother's. Hopefully I can get the words right to explain it well. Here goes.

To recap, there are some key dates that stand out for me this summer:
May 9 - first appt w/family practice doc about lump on my jaw/neck
May 14 - CT scan finds enlarged lymph node

May 24 - first appt w/ENT
June 10 - surgery to remove enlarged lymph node for biopsy
June 14 - biopsy results & NHL diagnosis

June 20- first appt w/C-Dr
July 22 - treatment plan determined

July 29/30 - first chemo cycle

August 26/27 - second chemo cycle

The three week period from May 24 to June 14 went by extremely fast. Way too fast. Many medical appointments and procedures were being done with a lot happening, but mostly a lot of new information needing to be absorbed into my overwhelmed brain. My world was a whirl.

The four weeks from June 20 to July 22? Oh my, a very different story. T-i-m-e  s-e-e-m-e-d  t-o  d-r-a-g  o-n  F-O-R-E-V-E-R!!! With the NHL diagnosis I was anxious to learn what the future held for me and if, or what, my treatment plan would be. Patience was not my virtue then. So many procedures and tests to determine that outcome. Keeping my schedule open so to not interfere with the soonest some appointment or procedure could be set. Utilizing medical facilities from one end of the valley to the other in order to stay within my insurance's approved facilities and also meet that soonest appointment thing. Unexpected procedures that popped up and delayed what I was wanting to know--although they were necessary to determine and get to the place about what I wanted to know. So busy, yet time seemed to not move. At all. And then, finally, on Monday, July 22, BAM! a treatment plan was set with chemo infusions starting the very next week. Wow. Finally, what seemed like the forever month that would never end, came to an end.

The next four weeks? From July 29/30 to August 26/27?
Between chemo cycle #1 and chemo cycle#2?
Neverhavefourweeksflownbysofast. Did you get that?

If the next several months go like the past month did (and as well), I'll be a very happy camper.

which is better than the alternative

We'll see. Only time will tell.

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Get The Popcorn

one thing leads to another

A greatest hits album title by The Fixx.
Who is, or are, The Fixx?
Obviously outside my music list.


Anyway, to continue...one thing did lead to another today while going through my email. Every Saturday I receive a Weekly Activity Digest showing any upcoming appointments I have at C-Dr's office and also a list of the most recent activity in a few cancer Discussion Groups I've subscribed to. One of the listed comments was "Got Lymphoma? Need some inspiration or support?" and got me curious because lymphoma isn't often mentioned. Turns out this gal has one of the lymphomas (there are more than 60 types), is currently in remission, turned her blog into a book, yada yada yada, but her comment was so upbeat I had to take a look at her blog and it included some posts with embedded videos in addition to many links to other cancer and lymphoma websites. I decided to explore. At one of those sites I found a very interesting video which I looked up on YouTube and am very glad I bookmarked it, from somewhere, because I've not been able to retrace my steps to get back! A downside of web surfing.

From the YouTube video there were others that looked interesting (my interests have changed in the last few months) and before I knew it my mind said, "Hey, these might help others reading my blog to understand some things I don't or can't explain very well and maybe they'd be interested in watching too."

Okay, I found these videos were very informative and basic without getting too deep into the weeds. You may disagree. Or not.

So get out some popcorn and your air popper, or unwrap a package of microwave popcorn, and come back here in 3 minutes.

Ready?

The first video "What Is Cancer?" is both educational and entertaining, and provides information somewhere between basic and intermediate levels. Well, at least to me. My mega research on this lately might have skewed my perspective. I you're going to watch one video, watch this one. Let me know what you think about it.

This second video comes once again with another long title and is from Guide Posts of Strength, specifically about Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma, presented by a doctor who gives excellent information. It's about 10 minutes long. Watching it was a little like re-living the past 3 months of my life along with a lot of what's been in this blog up to now. As a reminder, if you watch, my NHL type is follicular lymphoma. The link is to the GPS website because it's a cleaner look and not as cluttered as YouTube.

After watching those two videos you should now be more than halfway through your popcorn. Maybe you've even finished it!

The other day I was trying to explain, over the phone to a friend who had asked, how my Port-a-cath works for receiving the chemo infusions. Even as I tried to describe it and the process that is involved I could tell by the questions being asked I wasn't doing a very good job. Unfortunately, this friend relishes the fact there is no internet or computer in her home so my poor attempt, and her imagination, was all she had to work on. Luckily for you, since you're reading this, you have internet access and you can see for yourself (if you choose to) how the Port is used and accessed for chemotherapy.

First video in this Port section is (you guessed right if you said another long title) "How a Port-a-cath is used during chemotherapy" and, again, a simple and plain English explanation given by an oncologist. Once more I link to the source site rather than YouTube because it's not so full of video clutter. If you use YouTube you know what I mean. The second Port video --- and, in the interest of full disclosure if you haven't finished your popcorn and/or are an extremely squeamish person and/or needles bother you, you might want to pass on this one. Personally I don't think it's too bad, but my opinion and experiences lately have altered my views on many things! So, here it is, a very short YouTube video with another long title of The Chemo Experience: Accessing the Port.

Yup. That's exactly what it's like. Did you survive?



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Bemoaning the Blogging Blues

A blog post about why my blog post's are so sporadic. Or something.

I'm not very good at it. On a consistency basis.
My hat is off to those who earn a living doing it.

It takes a lot of time. To do it well. I don't know if it can be done 'right.'
I wordsmith too much. Sadly, a bad habit not unique to this blog.

I've learned to not publish a post immediately upon completing it. That it's best to sleep on it a night and make the revisions later that have tumbled through my mind. Otherwise, I'm constantly revising even old posts. A few people have caught me doing this. Okay, that means someone is reading this blog, and even paying attention?! Sometimes I re-edit (is that a redundant term?!) to correct errors, sometimes I re-edit (tough, I like 're-edit') to clarify content, sometimes I re-edit (getting used to re-edit yet?) just because I didn't like the way a sentence or thought sounded after reading it for the 5th or 200th time.

So that is the reason for this post -- to let you know why sometimes a post with a week old date has just shown up, or why multiple posts all showed up on the same day...assuming you are checking this blog every day. That's okay if you don't, I probably wouldn't either!

Some things are hard to write about and it takes me time to get all the thoughts down without being too gloomy or too lighthearted and then in finding the right balance between the two.

Sometimes I just overthink too much.

Sometimes I spend too much time searching and saving images from the internet in order to break up the monotony of nothing but words and sentences and paragraphs. Then again, that can also be way too much fun and easily distracting.

However, on the internet I found this little gem regarding blogging:
from freshspectrum.com

10. Posting every day

This is a great style if you’re shooting for exhaustion and plan to quit blogging sometime in the next month.

Okay, I feel better now!

Or maybe I just needed a post off-topic this blog's primary subject.



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Optimism

op·ti·mism

 n.

1. A tendency to expect the best possible outcome or dwell on the most hopeful aspects of a situation:

Amen.
I prefer a "half-full glass" and "making lemonade out of lemons".
And besides, this turtle made me laugh.


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A Life Lesson

Over 30 years ago two miserable nights of excruciating pain (yes, at night only!) resulted in a visit on the third day to my Family Practice Doctor. Initially he thought I had a bleeding ulcer. Fortunately after some tests at the hospital it was determined to be 'only' an extremely bad, awful, case of a severely irritated stomach (they called it Gastroenteritis back then but today's definition of it doesn't apply so I don't know what it would be called today). I was under a lot of stress at the time, particularly at work, that contributed to the problem. Anyway, six months of a prescription anti-ulcer medication solved the physical problem. On the mental side, I learned the lesson above.
That lesson has served me well over the years.
Today, that lesson is more important than ever.



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Codes

**This post has been in 'pending' mode for some time as I've struggled with whether or not to publish it. There are some stark realities to Cancer. This deals with one of them. I'm sensitive to those also on my insurance plan, and wonder, when our insurance premiums go up next year how much of it is due to me, and other co-workers/retirees or their family members in my situation. Did I share too much? Are there potential legal issues? are only some of the questions I've asked myself. However, this blog is about experiences with my NHL, and this is part of that experience. Be warned, the military term "shock and awe" might apply here!**


Zip CODE
The majority of my mail goes to a post office box where I pick it up once a week, usually on Sunday. Saves gasoline, saves time, and there is always a great parking spot.

which brings us to...

CODE Blue
For the last several months, in addition to the unwanted junk mail and box-filling catalogs and 'ugh' utility bills, there has of course been an abundance of medical related mail. From the "This Is Not A Bill" Explanation Of Benefits (EOB) sent by my insurance company for each procedure and each provider's service (often a single procedure has multiple providers), to the Invoice from each of those providers there are plenty of envelopes to sort through. Sometimes the EOB comes before an Invoice and sometimes the Invoice comes first. Either way, for those services that I am waiting on any type of notice to know the actual amount for what I owe it can be nerve-wracking wondering what those final $$$'s will be.
I think I've mentioned before how grateful I am for having medical insurance, which I've carried for 40+ years, seldom made claims on, yet now fully appreciate! [Perhaps another post will get into my pro's and gripes about medical insurance, not Obamacare which is a post all its own.] Anyway, my medical plan has an annual limit for out-of-pocket expenses, at which point Catastrophe Protection kicks in. Whew. Once that is reached there are a number of things I'm still responsible to pay for but nothing compared to what it has been. In the last several months I've diligently watched those out-of-pocket dollars not-so-slowly rise and wondered when that limit will be reached. Well, last Sunday's mail pickup had two surprises among my medical related envelopes. One took my breath away and the other had a code I'd not seen before.

So I mention all that to get to this...

The CODE Blue moment ("Code Blue" is generally used to indicate a patient requiring resuscitation or otherwise in need of immediate medical attention, most often as the result of a respiratory arrest or cardiac arrest.") happened while still in the parking lot of the Post Office opening medical-related envelopes, too impatient to wait until I got home, and the first one I happened to open was the EOB below. Can you see why I say "CODE Blue"?
First I saw the $$$'s amounts and then immediately checked the date.
It was for Chemo Day #1.
Fortunately a call to 911 was unnecessary. Barely.

(click on image to enlarge if needed)
As mentioned in this post an assistance program for one of the chemo drugs was offered to me. Guess which one? And now I know why!

Among the other medical mail also opened Sunday was the EOB for Chemo Day #2 which fortunately was a lesser cost, but was still reason for doing some calming deep breathing.

(click on image to enlarge if needed)

As much as these EOB's stunned me (and most of you reading this!), after all of the conversations with my C-Dr, and my subsequent research, I firmly believe he has me on the best course of treatment for my NHL based on the stage and location of the cancer activity in my body. An expensive course of treatment for sure, but no chemo drug is inexpensive. Cancer is not a low-cost disease as many cancer patients can attest to. And I whole heartily agree with what my Patient Advocate said to me on my initial visit to C-Dr office: "It looks like you have good insurance." Yes, and for that I'm extremely grateful.
The Six Million Dollar Man woman I'm not, but it may be close.

Thirty years ago, few to no options were available for NHL patients.
The prognosis was grim.
Life expectancy was short.
I'd likely have been told to get my affairs in order.
Fifteen years ago neither of my main chemotherapy drugs were available.
It's all very humbling on a lot of levels.

CODE M5

It was on the EOB for the Port Placement procedure, done on July 26th, when the new code "M5" showed up. Apparently my out-of-pocket costs reached the limit with this procedure. Shown below is the EOB explanation of the M5 code = "Catastrophe protection benefits apply to this service" and in reading that a new emotion kicked in. 

Certainly glad it wasn't a code of "MI5" (British Intelligence Agency) that was listed or that would be a Code Red!

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Mid-terms?

No, not this kind:

Or, this kind:

I miss school.
I do, in many ways!
Topic for another time.






Since "nadir" is an obscure word to most people, I've been trying to figure out the best title for today's post. This morning "mid-terms" sounded okay as that is the point school tests were given to determine how you're doing halfway or "mid"way through the term. So "mid-month" seemed more appropriate, but just sounded weird; then an internet search for 'mid-month' images produced zero suitable results. Problem solved.

Today was my post-chemo two-week followup appointment, or "NADIR" appt.  Nadir means the lowest point of anything (I think science-y origin), and in the chemotherapy world refers to when patients blood counts (white & red blood cells, and platelets) are at their lowest during the chemo cycle. It's also two weeks before my next round of chemo; and thus, midway through my term/cycle of chemo. You can read more 'nadir' info here or here or even here if you want.

First stop was to get vitals taken (weight, BP, temperature, oxygen, respiration), along with two vials of blood. Yippee Skippy. Of course for these 'mid'term tests no amount of studying will affect the results.

Next stop was a visit with Nancy, my C-Dr's P.A., to discuss how I was feeling/doing and any side-effects experienced since my chemo 2 weeks ago. Yes, constipation to deal with; Yes, metallic taste of water for several days; and Yes to a weird 'warm ice-water' thing. She seemed as curious as I was about the 'warm ice-water' and then entered it all in my chart. She went on to tell me it could probably be worse as there is another chemo drug with a side effect that literally gives people an electric-type shock whenever they touch anything cold or eat anything cold. Okay, I can deal with 'warm ice-water.'

She also said she usually meets patients on their initial visit with C-Dr but she was out of town that week, so we reviewed my recent medical history: that April discovery of lump-to-current day kind of history. She seemed pleased I did so well on the first day of infusion ("you breezed right through") and didn't suffer too severely from side effects. We both hope that continues but there are no guarantees. Wouldn't it be nice if there were?! Continued to chat while she waited for the CBC (complete blood count) results to be sent to her. Finally the CBC report arrived and I was very curious to see how good or bad it was. I passed! Some counts were down but not so significantly to cause problems. Whew.

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Reflection - the Lump

As women, we're told to be vigilant about annual mammograms and monthly self-checks for lumps to aid in early cancer detection. Everyone is also warned to check for moles and skin markings that have changes to them to aid in early cancer detection. We're encouraged to get a colonoscopy as an aid in early cancer detection. Lately I've wondered why, upon the discovery of the lump under my left jaw, my mind didn't immediately go to "cancer!!!" I'm guessing it's because those medical warnings are given for the most frequent or easily detectable cancers, and 'the lump' wasn't in an expected location on my body.

Once I'd gotten the appointment in early May with a new (to me) family practice Doc and he'd grilled me about any recent illnesses or infections (there were none) and then went through a long weekend of antibiotics (just in case) I wasn't thinking about 'the worst' possible outcome. Probably a good thing. Even during the follow-up appointment 5 days later, when that lump hadn't reduced in size, it didn't occur to me Cancer was active in my body. Probably a good thing. And even then, when he scheduled me for a CT scan the same afternoon of the followup morning appointment, the word Cancer was far from my mind. Probably a good thing. If he had an idea or clue he didn't say anything; that's good because I suspect he too wanted to know exactly what the lump was before needlessly instilling panic into someone. Probably a good thing. And then, when he called me four days later with the CT scan results showing the lump was a lymph node and he was going to refer me to an ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) Doc, with soonest possible appointment (scheduled for three days later) the farthest thing from my mind was Cancer. Probably a good thing.

Uncharacteristically, don't think I even considered, or even did, an internet search for 'enlarged lymph nodes' in that interim period of time. Probably a good thing. I recall being somewhat annoyed at the call to Jury Duty because it meant postponing the ENT Doc appointment for several days, but only because I wanted to know what that lump was and not because of a concern about Cancer running rampant through my system. Probably a good thing.

And then, finally, the appointment with the ENT Doc when he showed me the CT scan images and did the ultrasound of the lump area and then the needle biopsies, and then said surgery should be done for an excision biopsy to determine exactly what the lump was and then...

...went through the possibilities of what the lump could be and I heard for the first time the word 'Cancer' and then the mind starts whirling. Probability of the probable? Overwhelming.

And that's what I've been "reflecting" about for a several weeks. Hopefully writing it down here will end my reflections about 'the lump' for a while. And that should be a good thing.



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This Is What Happens When...

...plastic gets cooked.

Which made me wonder--do all the cancer cells in my body have a similar twisted and funky look before chemo cooks them? Or does the chemo make them more twisted and funky than they already are? Those were the questions I asked myself after I saw this poor little radio today.
At one time it didn't look like this. At one time I didn't have Cancer.

Because it doesn't get used much I decided to hop in my little blue-but-not-so-much-anymore-because-it-needs-a-paint-job truck to run some errands today. Plunked all the errand-related stuff and papers on the passenger seat and proceeded on my way. Didn't notice the poor little 'cook'ed radio until later. A freebie from some demo or door prize or something many years ago, this little radio was also on the passenger seat and is always in the truck to be used instead of the truck radio (to save truck battery) when I'm working around the yard doing major tree trimming, cleanup, or large weeding projects. Sweet little trucks like mine fit in tight spaces around the yard. For some reason (!) in a house with enough garages to shelter five or maybe six vehicles there's currently only available space for two cars. And thus the reason this poor little truck sits outside come rain, sleet, sun, clouds, snow, hot or cold. This has been an exceptionally hot summer. Apparently hot enough to 'cook' and partially melt a once square and perpendicular little portable radio.

After thinking about it tonight, I've decided this little radio is either sympathizing with me and/or giving me a sign. You see, the last time I was in the truck, about 3 weeks ago, this little radio was perfectly fine. However, since then I've had my first round of chemotherapy treatments, whose job it is to destroy those stinker cancer cells in my body...and also since then this little radio got 'cook'ed. I'm hoping it's a sign, and that just like this little radio got destroyed, the same thing is happening to my cancer cells.

Doesn't look very happy does it? I suppose many of my good blood cells are unhappy too as chemo can also 'cook' and destroy some of them.

But it still made me laugh to see the power of Mother Nature, and this sad, mad, and grumpy faced little radio today.

*update*

Omigosh.
I realized my little radio now looks like this "Mad Bluebird"!

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1 & 2 + 7 = 9!

Bad Math? New Math? or Chemo Brain?

"Chemo#1" and "Chemo#2" are the entries in my smartphone calendar for the Monday (1 day) and Tuesday (1 day) of chemotherapy sessions past and upcoming.

So today is 7 days after Chemo#1 and Chemo#2; that makes 9, right?

So what, if any, side effects did I experience this past week, you may be asking, or wondering. And, more importantly, "How do I feel?"

As mentioned previously there was the constipation the chemo nurse warned me about. It got it resolved but I don't know if it was due to being proactive with the Senna-S tablets, too many red grapes, or too much cantaloupe late one night, or the combination of all. Now that's TMI! Still learning if this is a side effect that will be ongoing or one more common immediately following the two days of infusion. Time will tell!


We're also encouraged to drink LOTS of fluids, and in particular, water. Nice of Maverick to have their X-Large fountain drink on sale for $1 so I can use that 44-oz. cup as my watering hole here at home. My goal is to go through two of those containers a day, and when successful -- it goes through me all night. I remind myself this is a good thing. One of my chemo's is hard on the kidneys so I use that as my incentive to drink plenty of water.

It was more difficult to drink that water when, by Tuesday night, it had a bad metallic taste. Cleaned out the container and tried again but it was the same way. Okay, a confirmed side effect that continued for another day or two. I didn't notice it much with food, but the water?! Nasty. Even tried using my favorite Crystal Light punch over all that ice. Still nasty. If you grew up in the 1950's and ever drank out of those aluminum tumblers (that even back then I thought made fluids taste bad) you know what I mean. Fortunately by Friday or Saturday that had gone away, but another weird thing had not...

...Calling all chemists. Is it possible for ice to be warm? That may sound like an odd question but for several days last week the water in that 44 ounces of metallic-ness never did feel very cold: through the straw, in my mouth, or going down my throat. And this, mind you, was with the cup loaded with ice and then water added to seep through the cubes; ice and water frequently reloaded to keep it all topped off. Always tons of ice in that cup. Compared to yesterday and today when that cup of ice water was brrrr cold to drink, it just never tasted or felt very cold last week. Weird. Curious to see if that happens in the next round.

Another thing. In the 'old' days I could often go until 3pm or 4pm without eating and feel fine. These aren't the 'old' days anymore. For the past week (although I haven't noticed it as much today) it was helpful to always keep 'something' on my stomach. I never had that nauseated blarch feeling or quesy stomach thing, but maybe eating frequently stopped that from happening. Tried not eating breakfast yesterday--that was a mistake. Survived, but won't let it happen again. We're encouraged to eat 6 smaller meals a day, each including a protein, rather than 3 large ones so I worked toward that goal. Breakfast in the morning, 2 hours later a greek yogurt, 2 hours later lunch something, 2 hours later a piece of string cheese, 2 hours later a small dinner and then just before bed usually a piece of toast (too late at night for me and protein). Sheesh. This cancer thing is hard work!

I'm now into the two weeks of the chemo cycle when my immune system is most compromised. Ulta frequent hand washings and hand sanitizer have not been my habit so my guess is it'll take awhile to being vigilant about doing that and having the sanitizer available to make sure others around me use it. Am also to stay away from big crowds and sick people during this time; okay no Sam's Club on Saturday, but maybe tomorrow.

My energy level is good and although not much was accomplished last week I've decided it was because being lazy is a choice. I chose to be lazy last week. Mostly because it was too hot to work outside, and maybe a little bit of me decided I'd earned it. So there. 

As for the 'tiredness' and 'fatigue' my C-Dr says is coming...I'm content to wait.

And really, I do feel good.


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Attitude

YES!

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T.M.I.

(Too Much Information, if you didn't know)

During our regular scrapbooking session tonight I told my sister what I'd decided to title this post - and the topic. She grimaced, said something like "Really?!" Okay, for the record, my poo doesn't light up, and that of course is not listed among the many chemo side effects, but this cartoon did make me laugh. Yes, there are related side effects; however, I'll just leave my reality to your imagination. You'll probably dream up something far more outrageous than what I'd describe anyway. 

See, that wasn't so bad was it? Or was it? TMI? Or not?



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